Just a thought.A Story by white raven
It is as if the entire affair was a dream. That whenever I wish it, I could pick up and see her.
When I ring her up on the phone, she would answer and regale me with her endless stories. Though I had heard them over and over again, they always brought a laugh to my lips and joy to my heart. Now, I find myself thinking of her more than when she was alive. The urge to visit becomes so strong that I have to tell myself, there isn't anyone there to visit any more. The last image I have of her, so frail, so still and quiet is not the one I want. I want her laughter, her swinging leg and her chain smoking voice going on and on, boring everyone to tears. Everyone, that is, but me. I hate cancer. © 2012 white raven |
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Added on May 10, 2012 Last Updated on May 10, 2012 Author
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